From the Ocean from teh Stars (13 page)

had to make several attempts before he could get out the words: "Where am I?"

"Never you mind, mate," replied the bearded character. "What
we
want to know is what the hell were you doing at a hundred fathoms with a standard compressed-air set. Crikey, he's fainted again!"

The second time Franklin revived, he felt a good deal better, and sufficiently interested in life to want to know what was going on around him. He supposed he should be grateful to these people, whoever they were, but at the moment he felt neither relief nor disappointment at having been rescued.

"What's all this for?" he said, pointing to the conspiratorial handkerchiefs. The skipper, who was now sitting at the controls, turned his head and answered laconically: "Haven't you worked out where you are yet?"

"No."

"Mean ter say you don't know who / am?"

"Sorry—I don't."

There was a grunt that might have signified disbelief or disappointment.

"Guess you must be one of the new boys. I'm Bert Darryl, and you're on board the
Sea Lion.
Those two gentlemen behind you risked their necks getting you in."

Franklin turned in the direction indicated, and looked at the blank triangles of linen.

"Thanks," he said, and then stopped, unable to think of any further comment. Now he knew where he was, and could guess what had happened.

So this was the famous—or notorious, depending on the point of view—Captain Darryl, whose advertisements you saw in all the sporting and marine journals. Captain Darryl, the organizer of thrilling underwater safaris; the intrepid and skillful hunter—and the equally intrepid and skillful poacher, whose immunity from prosecution had long been a source of cynical comment among the wardens. Captain Darryl—one of the few genuine adventurers of this regimented age, according to some. Capta
^:
n Darryl, the big phony, according to others. . . .

Franklin now understood why the rest of the crew was masked. This was one of the captain's less legitimate enterprises, and Franklin had heard that on these occasions his customers were often from the very highest ranks of society. No one else could afford to pay his fees; it must cost a lot to run the
Sea Lion,
even though Captain Darryl was reputed never to pay cash for anything and to owe money at every port between Sydney and Darwin.

Franklin glanced at the anonymous figures around him, wondering
who they might be and whether he knew any of them. Only a halfhearted
effort had been made to hide the powerful big-game guns piled on the other bunk. Just where was the captain taking his customers, and what
were they after? In the circumstances, he had better keep his eyes shut
and learn as little as possible.

Captain Darryl had already come to the same conclusion.

"You realize, mate," he said over his shoulder as he carefully blocked
Franklin's view of the course settings, "that your presence aboard is just
a little bit embarrassing. Still, we couldn't let you drown, even though
you deserved it for a silly stunt like that. The point is—what are we going
to do with you now?"

"You could put me ashore on Heron. We can't be very far away."
Franklin smiled as he spoke, to show how seriously he intended the sug
gestion to be taken. It was strange how cheerful and lighthearted he now
felt; perhaps it was a merely physical reaction—and perhaps he was
really glad at having been given a second chance, a new lease on life.

"What a hope!" snorted the captain. "These gentlemen have paid for
their day's sport, and they don't want you boy scouts spoiling it."

"They can take off those handkerchiefs, anyway. They don't look
very comfortable—and if I recognize someone, I won't give him away."

Rather reluctantly, the disguises were removed. As he had expected
—and hoped—there was no one here whom he knew, either from photo
graphs or direct contact.

"Only one thing for it," said the captain. "We'll have to dump you
somewhere before we go into action." He scratched his head as he re
viewed his marvelously detailed mental image of the Capricorn Group,
then came to a decision. "Anyway, we're stuck with you for tonight, and
I guess we'll have to sleep in shifts. If you'd like to make yourself useful,
you can get to work in the galley."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Franklin.

The dawn was just breaking when he hit the sandy beach, staggered
to his feet, and removed his flippers. ("They're my second-best pair, so
mind you post them back to me," Captain Bert had said as he pushed
him through the air lock.) Out there beyond the reef, the
Sea Lion
was
departing on her dubious business, and the hunters were getting ready
for their sortie. Though it was against his principles and his duties, Frank
lin could not help wishing them luck.

Captain Bert had promised to radio Brisbane in four hours' time,
and the message would be passed on to Heron Island immediately. Pre-

sumably that four hours would give the captain and his clients the time they needed to make their assault and to get clear of W.F.O. waters.

Franklin walked up the beach, stripped off his wet equipment and
clothes, and lay down to watch the sunrise he had never dreamed he
would see. He had four hours to wait, to wrestle with his thoughts and
face life once more. But he did not need the time, for he had made the
decision hours ago.

His life was no longer his to throw away if he chose; not when it had
been given back to him, at the risk of their own, by men he had never
met before and would never see again.

☆
CHAPTER TEN

Y
ou realize, of course," said Myers, "that I'm only
the station doctor, not a high-powered psychiatrist. So I'll have to send
you back to Professor Stevens and his merry men."

"Is that really necessary?" asked Franklin.

"I don't think it is, but I can't accept the responsibility. If I was a
gambler like Don, I'd take very long odds that you'll never play this
trick again. But doctors can't afford to gamble, and anyway I think it
would be a good idea to get you off Heron for a few days."

"I'll finish the course in a couple of weeks. Can't it wait until then?"

"Don't argue with doctors, Walt—you can't win. And if my arithmetic
is correct, a month and a half is
not
a couple of weeks. The course can
wait for a few days; I don't think Prof Stevens will keep you very long.
He'll probably give you a good dressing-down and will send you straight
back. Meanwhile, if you're interested in my views, I'd like to get 'em off
my chest."

"Go ahead."

"First of all, we know
why
you had that attack when you did. Smell
is the most evocative of all the senses, and now that you've told me that a spaceship air lock always smells of synthene the whole business makes
sense. It was hard luck that you got a whiff of the stuff just when you were looking at the Space Station: the damn thing's nearly hypnotized me sometimes when I've watched it scuttling across the sky like some
mad meteor.

"But that isn't the whole explanation, Walter. You had to be, let's
say, emotionally sensitized to make you susceptible. Tell me—have you
got a photograph of your wife here?"

Franklin seemed more puzzled than disturbed by the unexpected, in
deed apparently incongruous, question.

"Yes," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Never mind. May I have a look at it?"

After a good deal of searching, which Myers was quite sure was
unnecessary, Franklin produced a leather wallet and handed it over. He
did not look at Myers as the doctor studied the woman who was now
parted from her husband by laws more inviolable than any that man could make.

She was small and dark, with lustrous brown eyes. A single glance told Myers all that he wanted to know, yet he continued to gaze at the
photograph with an unanalyzable mixture of compassion and curiosity.
How, he wondered, was Franklin's wife meeting her problem? Was she, too, rebuilding her life on that far world to which she was forever bound by genetics and gravity? No, forever was not quite accurate. She could
safely journey to the Moon, which had only half the gravity of her native
world. But there would be no purpose in doing so, for Franklin could
never face even the trifling voyage from Earth to Moon.

With a sigh, Dr. Myers closed the wallet. Even in the most perfect of
social systems, the most peaceful and contented of worlds, there would
still be heartbreak and tragedy. And as man extended his powers over
the universe, he would inevitably create new evils and new problems to
plague him. Yet, apart from its details, there was nothing really novel
about this case. All down the ages, men had been separated—often for
ever—from those they loved by the accident of geography or the malice
of their fellows.

"Listen, Walt," said Myers as he handed back the wallet. "I know a
few things about you that even Prof Stevens doesn't, so here's my con
tribution.

"Whether you realize it consciously or not, Indra is like your wife.
That, of course, is why you were attracted to her in the first place. At
the same time, that attraction has set up a conflict in your mind. You
don't want to be unfaithful even to someone—please excuse me for
speaking so bluntly—who might as well be dead as far as you are con
cerned. Well—do you agree with my analysis?"

Franklin took a long time to answer. Then he said at last: "I think
there may be something in that. But what am I to do?"

"This may sound cynical, but there is an old saying which applies in
this case. 'Co-operate with the inevitable.' Once you admit that certain
aspects of your life are fixed and have to be accepted, you will stop

fighting against them. It won't be a surrender; it will give you the energy
you need for the battles that still have to be won."

"What does Indra really think about me?"

"The silly girl's in love with you, if that's what you want to know. So
the least you can do is to make it up to her for all the trouble you've
caused."

"Then do you think I should marry again?"

"The fact that you can ask that question is a good sign, but I can't
answer it with a simple 'yes' or 'no.' We've done our best to rebuild your
professional life; we can't give you so much help with your emotional
one. Obviously, it's highly desirable for you to establish a firm and stable
relationship to replace the one you have lost. As for Indra—well, she's a
charming and intelligent girl, but no one can say how much of her present
feelings are due to sympathy. So don't rush matters; let them take their
time. You can't afford to make any mistakes.

"Well, that finishes the sermon—except for one item. Part of the
trouble with you, Walter Franklin, is that you've always been too in
dependent and self-reliant. You refused to admit that you had limitations,
that you needed help from anyone else. So when you came up against
something that was too big for you, you really went to pieces, and you've
been hating yourself for it ever since.

"Now that's all over and done with; even if the old Walt Franklin was a bit of a stinker, we can make a better job of the Mark II. Don't you agree?"

Franklin gave a wry smile; he felt emotionally exhausted, yet at the
same time most of the remaining shadows had lifted from his mind. Hard
though it had been for him to accept help, he had surrendered at last and
he felt better for it.

"Thanks for the treatment, Doc," he said. "I don't believe the special
ists could do any better, and I'm quite sure now that this trip back to Prof Stevens isn't necessary."

"So am I—but you're going just the same. Now clear out and let me
get on with my proper work of putting sticking plaster on coral cuts."

Franklin was halfway through the door when he paused with a sud
den, anxious query.

"I almost forgot—Don particularly wants to take me out tomorrow
in the sub. Will that be O.K.?"

"Oh, sure—Don's big enough to look after you. Just get back in time
for the noon plane, that's all I ask."

As Franklin walked away from the office and two rooms grandly
called "Medical Center" he felt no resentment at having been ordered